


Looking Back

by ApolloAttraction



Category: Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, There is some Kate/Tommy if you squint at it, Tommy is misdiagnosed as ADHD before they figure out he is a mutant, his parents aren't necessarily bad people but theyre not good parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3485504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApolloAttraction/pseuds/ApolloAttraction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fans have been told a few times that the reason we get so very little of Tommy's backstory is because Tommy prefers to look forward and can't stand any kind of "legacy" stuff. However valid that reason may or may not be, it leaves room for a lot of headcanons. I have dumped all my headcanons of Tommy's past in the following story. The plot is, loosely, that Tommy was forced to rewatch his life while trapped by Patrinot. Mainly, it follows younger Tommy through his life before Juvie and the Young Avengers, especially in relation to his parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking Back

He didn't remember how he got to the hospital. One second he's running from the patriot look-alike and his horror-filled gaze and the next he's standing against a wall in the hallway to what must be the busiest hospital on earth. He thought about asking someone where he was and how he got there, but quickly decided against it; he had a _thing_ about hospitals and he wanted _out._ He tried to run, but his powers were defunct. He was still thinking at his normal speed but his reactions were inhibited; he didn't understand why and started to panic.

There was a door with a bright red **Exit** blazing above it. Nurses and doctors flowed around him without any pause as he made his was toward the door. It seemed like it was taking forever. He stopped and glared at the door; how did anyone stand this?

Two nurses walked past, one holding a stack of files and the other an IV bag. “Have you gotten a name from the Shepherds yet?” The nurse holding the files asked.

“Not yet; they're only just now getting to hold the baby.” The nurse with the IV bag replied.

Tommy turned. Surely there were thousands of people with the last name Shepherd. What was the likelihood that it was actually his family? Plus, his Mom wasn't pregnant and his Dad hadn't remarried her as far as he knew. Still, he followed the nurses. They didn't seem to notice him at all. The nurse with the files ducked into a room beside the one that the nurse with the IV bag went into. 

When the nurse with the bag opened the door he was surprised to see his mother and his father. They were younger than he remembered them, though. Happier, too, judging by their smiles. “Turn him this way, Mary, all I can see is blanket.” his father said as he moved to his mother's bedside with a clunky old camcorder clutched in his hand. 

“I swear, Frank, if you don't get that camera out of my face, I'm going to beat you over the head with it,” his mother hissed, but the grin she wore stole any real threat from the words. She turned the bundle in her arms and revealed the infant. He had a head of soft, black hair and chubby cheeks. Though the child's eyes were closed, Tommy knew immediately that he had green eyes.

The nurse hung the IV bag and looked to his mother. “Have you two settled on a name yet.”

His mother looked to his father and he smiled at her. “His name is Thomas.”

The nurse smiled, “That's a wonderful name. I'll bring you and your husband the paperwork.” 

Tommy stood at the corner of the room, knowing now that he was only a specter in the memory. The nurse came back and took the baby from his mother so that they could check vitals and sign papers. Tommy walked to the plastic bassinet the child was in and reached down to touch its head. “Get ready, little guy; I think we're in for a ride.”

Watching himself grow up started out nostalgic, but became very lonely and very sad. It's cute when they first brought him home and all they could do was fawn over him. There were multitudes of pictures taken and relatives came over in large groups. When an aunt leaned over and said, “Just let me know if you or the baby ever need anything; I'm always here for you,” he wondered where she was when it all went to Hell; it's a bitterness that he didn't know he still felt. Almost immediately afterward, he wondered if he had cousins.

He laughed at himself and his mom when he started learning to walk and immediately ran into the TV stand, hit his head on the corner, and bounced off it with an indignant screech. His mother panicked and picked him up off the floor, bouncing him on her knee and cooing to him. His dad walked by and smiled, “Bet he won't do that again.” The glare his mother sent to him made even Tommy cringe. A few days later, the infant's hair started falling out and they both took him to the doctor thinking that the knot on his head had something to do with it. The doctor told them everything was fine and that sometimes young children lose the hair they're born with. They went back to the doctor a few months later when the child's hair started growing in a silvery white; again, they were told it was natural. 

By second grade, Tommy had taken to ignoring what was happening to himself and wondering around the environments instead. The girl three seats over was drawing hearts around his name (he never knew.) Teachers were having affairs in the janitors' closet. The DARE officer that handed out all the super cool wrist bands was popping painkillers in the parking lot. Girls were lifting up their shirts in the middle of the hallway to show off their cool training bras. It's basically the same every day and he wondered if he could go visit Billy's family. He decided against it pretty quickly; it seemed too personal, not that Billy wouldn't lay out his entire life at Tommy's slightest provocation (he still got texts every other day talking about hanging out and 'bonding.')

He tuned back in to his own life on grade card day somewhere near the end of the year. He had all Es (for excellent, of course.) He didn't really remember ever having a good grade card; the cards went almost directly to parents in elementary school. “Oh look at how good a job you're doing in school,” his mother grinned and gave him the sucker that had been stuck in the envelop the grade card came in. He popped the treat into his mouth and ran off happily.

Tommy stayed in the room, staring at his grades over his parents' shoulders. “Es?” his father said, sounding confused. “When I was in school it was ABCDF.”

“The older grades still use that scale,” hi mother explained.

His dad scoffed, “I guess we'll know how he's doing in the  _ older _ grades then.”

“He's doing just fine,” his mother quipped.

But when fourth grade rolled around, they realized that Tommy was  _ not _ doing just fine. His grades in math were the highest, topping out at a low C. Ds were still passing, but were enough cause for concern that his parents were invited to a parent-teacher conference where they hung their heads in shame when asked if they read together or talked about school at home.

For the next few nights Tommy watched his mother sit down in the armchair and pull him into her lap with a book. He would sit still for a few minutes and then squirm and wiggle as his mom tried to get him to pronounce words that had, in his mind, flown off the page and redefined themselves into questions about how the clock on the stove knew what time it was and why his father left his shoes by the door. He usually forgot his questions by the time he remembered to ask them and his mother was pronouncing the words for him and tracing her finger across the page while her other arm gripped him tight so that he wouldn't jump off her lap.

It went on for weeks and gradually the time it took for her to get exasperated and let go of him shortened to just a few measly minutes. His dad came home early and saw the exchange one night. “His grades are never going to get better if you don't make him sit down.”

“I try, Frank. And if you think it's so easy, then _you_ try it.” His smother snapped and ran a hand through her unruly hair. 

His father left the room and came back with Tommy trailing behind him. “Alright, what do you want to read, kiddo?” 

The younger Tommy pouted, “I don't want to read.”

“Well, you need to read so you can do better in school,” his father said and sat down on the couch with him. “So do you want to read Judy Moody or Captain Underpants?”

“Neither,” The younger Tommy protested and jumped off the couch.

“Tommy,” His father started, voice stern. The older Tommy, currently looking through the bookshelf in the corner of the room (he did read, sometimes, now that he was older and could walk around a room while burying his nose in a book without fear of a teacher telling him to sit back down) looked up with a frown. He hadn't been paying attention to the memories in a while (so long; when would this end,) and he only took note of them when he heard his name. “Come sit down.” He father said; older Tommy recognized the terse tone as a threat and a warning. The younger Tommy just crinkled his nose and walked down the hall, toward his room. 

Moments later, the younger Tommy was being dragged by the arm back into the sitting room and bent over his father's knees for his first spanking ever. He rarely tried to escape reading after that; his grades increased marginally and spanking became a common punishment.

By seventh grade, his grades, which had rose to low Bs, tanked again. His parents were constantly being called by teachers. He walked around the classroom when he was supposed to be seated. During quiet time he tapped his pencil or rocked in his chair, distracting other students. He hardly paid attention to the teacher and when he did he would often blurt out questions or answers despite a strict 'raise your hand to speak' policy. 

When the principal finally demanded a conference and asked how Tommy was doing at home, Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd explained that there had also been changes. They talked about how young Tommy would only stay asleep for a few hours before waking up, completely wired. They said that he was always making a mess somewhere in the house and not cleaning it. They said he was very hyper, especially after school.

The principal nodded and said they'd seen children like this before. He recommended them to a child psychiatrist. Older Tommy noted how his parents had said nothing about how they screamed at him for the messes, how they locked his door from the outside so that he couldn't leave his room if he got up in the middle of the night, how they would sit him in 'time out' whenever he got hyper. Granted, they were things any parent would do to any other child, Tommy still held it against him because he wasn't  _ any other child _ and they should have seen that, but instead, they spanked him or shushed him if he ever tried to explain why he absolutely hated any of the things they did to him.

When he left the psychiatrist's office, it was with the diagnosis ADHD and a prescription that would change 8 times over the next year. His parents' attitudes changed with the diagnosis as well. His mother believed she'd found the cure for everything wrong with her son. His father believed they were drugging him because they (and by they, of course he meant Mary,) couldn't handle their child. It only took two months into Tommy's treatment for them to separate, though to be fair it had been a long time coming. 

Tommy watched as his younger self wandered around in a fog for months as his parents argued, each time louder and more viciously until his mother got the divorce papers in the mail. His grades dropped again and the psychiatrist tried to tell them that it was probably due to his home life. His mother, livid at the implications that she wasn't treating her son right changed doctors. Tommy changed medication. He felt better. It was still a little hazy, but it was better. The older Tommy knew it wouldn't last, though; a stone seemed to settle in the pit of his stomach as he remembered the memory before it ever showed up before his eyes.

He and his mother were sitting at the dining room table eating an oven-bake pizza (she didn't have time to cook now that she was working again.) “I think we're going to have to change your medication again,” his mother said as she eyed the fourth piece of pizza he had taken. 

“What?” Tommy asked, his eyebrows scrunching together. “Why?”

“This one makes you have such a huge appetite,” She said dismissively and bit into her own pizza.

“I'm a growing boy, I eat.” He said defensively. “It's not my meds. Plus, these are the first sort of good meds that I've been on.”

She shook her head, “You eat  _ all _ the time and you eat  _ so _ much; it's like you think we grow this food in the back yard-” she stopped herself as her voice started to raise. Tommy knew now that she also didn't want to imply that she wanted to change his meds because he was eating more than they could afford; later she would say as much and Tommy, feeling guilty, would eat like a “normal” kid and become malnourished in the process. “Look, honey,” she started again, softly, “we knew this could be a side effect of the new meds. We need to find one that's a better fit. For you health.”

“Well, actually,” he shifted uncomfortably and set the pizza down on his plate. “I've been thinking that I could come off my meds. I mean, I've been thinking more clearly and I'm older now and I think that I could do okay, you know, without them.”

“Oh, honey,” she said and reached out to place her hand on top of his. “You're only thinking clearly because of the medication. If you come off of it, you'll lose all the progress you've made.” Older Tommy nods, though there's bile rising in his throat as he thinks about what happens next. Right now, though, he understands where she's coming from. Some people need their medication. Some people are genuinely, truly better off with medication and sometimes they think that they don't need it when they absolutely do. He would learn that next year when he met Lisa and convinced her to come off her medication only to watch her fall apart without it.

“But I haven't been taking it lately and I feel fine- better without it, actually- and you and the teachers haven't noticed so I can come off of it and be ok.” Younger Tommy blurted out without thinking.

His mother recoiled and a look of disgust fell upon her face. “What do you  _ mean _ you haven't been taking it?”

Younger Tommy doesn't notice the way her eyes darken and her frown twitches in anger as he explains: “I started cheeking the pills a while ago.”

“I thought you were old enough to know better! I should have known you weren't ready to take it by yourself.” She stands up abruptly, nearly knocking her chair over and goes to the cupboard that holds his medicine. “Take it.” she says and sets the medicine bottle in front of him. 

“Mom, I just said that I feel fine without it,” He protested and scooted his chair back from the table.

“You don't know how you are when you're off your medicine. You can't possibly understand how hard it was. You _need_ your medication.” She insisted, one hand on her hip as she glared down at him.

“Hard on me or hard on _you_?” He snaps without thinking. 

“How dare you,” she says, her voice going shrill. “After all that I've done for you- after everything I've _sacrificed_ for you-”

“Mom, I just don't want to take it; I feel better without it,” he insisted. 

“You're so ungrateful,” she spoke over him and shook her head. “Just take your medicine and go to bed.” Her tone was stern and final. Tommy gripped the bottle tightly and popped the top off of it. In seconds he thought over what he was going to do a hundred times before he ever stood up and started stomping down the hall. “Where are you going? Thomas get back here,” she demanded and then started down the hall. The older Tommy opened the front door and went out it. He didn't need to see what happened next because he still remembered it vividly. He has twelve years old, nearly thirteen, and he had the empty bottle clutched in his hand while about fifteen blue pills sat in the bottom of the toilet, slowly dissolving. When his mother showed up in the door frame he looked directly at her. She lunged forward, with a shout of “No!” as though the pills could still be saved. He pressed the plunger down on the toilet and they disappeared in a whoosh of new water. 

She raised her open hand back and brought it down hard on his face. It was the first time she smacked him. For a moment she would look just as horrified as anyone watching the scene unfold, but then she would be resolute and send Tommy to his room where the door still locked from the outside to keep him in bed. He would think about climbing out the window and running away, but time after time that thought would be killed by the overpowering idea that  _ he deserved it. _

Older Tommy went for a walk. Time passed in a strange way and he missed more than he thought he would as he made the slow trek from his house in New Jersey to the large warehouse labeled “Bishop Publishing” in sharp steel letters. He didn't know where Kate would be right now, so this was the closest he could get to her. She always knew how to help him when he felt this awful, bitter, resentment eating away at him, but now he was all alone trying to figure out how to help himself.

He wasn't incapable of taking care of his own issues, but sometimes it was nice to have someone guide you through all the shit and show you that it's fine or it will be fine. He sat down in the grass, still feeling sluggish from the lack of powers, but also somewhat relieved by the ability to get away from the memories. In two years, maybe less, the warehouse would be abandoned and he would be sitting inside on a brand name couch playing video games next to his soul-twin. The second girl he'd ever kissed (but don't tell her that, he has an image to maintain), would be sitting in an armchair polishing her bow with the current co-leader of the team talking about physical training and why it was important. He would be _so happy_ in just two years.

He stood up, resolute, and walked back to his house. He found himself huddled against his bedroom door looking down at his hands with curiosity and fear. Months had passed since he left, but he still knew what happened. He'd been locked in his room after a fight about sliding grades. He was angry and he was hurt and his stomach was gnawing at him because his mother put a padlock on the cabinets last night so he hasn't eaten since breakfast. The mechanical pencil on the desk in the corner of the room is tiny chunks of smoldering plastic and the back of his computer chair is slightly melted. He had just found out he is a mutant. Tommy sat down beside his younger self and put an arm around his shoulders, though of course he didn't notice him.

“Listen little me,” he started casually, realizing the stupidity of talking to someone who can't hear you, but still feeling the need to do it. “I know you're scared of what you are and what you can do. And yea, being able to make things melt and explode before you've even learned to drive is literally awful. Driving is literally awful, too, just so you know. We actually get around much quicker than cars once our powers fully develop. You'll figure that out in a month or two, since right now you're only thinking fast. Anyway, right now sucks. But it's going to get better. It'll get worse, too, but it'll get more better the worse it gets. But mainly, it gets better than right now. Right now you think she's going to find out you're a mutant and that's going to be the end of it. She can hardly stand you when you're ADHD why would she stand you as a mutant, right? Well, wrong. Actually, no that's right because once you blow up the school and she finds out you're a mutant you don't hear from her or see her-”

“This is not a good pep-talk,” he notes and takes a breath before continuing. “The point is you've got more family than her.” He takes his hand from his shoulders and stands up, pacing the room and flailing as he talks. “You've got another mother who is famous and tries to connect to you a little too much too soon, but it's pretty nice considering _this_ mother stops trying at all pretty soon. You've got a brother who is a huge nerd and completely dorky and _yes_ his soul wound up living the good life, but he's _so_ willing to share all of his life with you and his parents sort of become your parents and then you get two more brothers and they still send you post cards even though you moved out months ago because you just _couldn't stand_ that you didn't fit in with them and Billy got depressed. You've got Kate, of course, who texts you updates about her cross country adventures almost as often as you text her. I think she hooked up with an alien; imagine if it's Teddy's long lost brother or something, how great would that be. And Teddy- he's great. He let's you know how Billy's doing even though you're always too scared of the answer to ask and then there's your new friends like David and-”

He stopped, not having noticed the memory fade to white. He only had a moment to take stock of the white walls and floors of the not-room he stood in before a wash of dark black haze descended upon him and stole his breath.  When the haze disappeared he blinked his eyes open to see David and realized they were kissing. It was too much, too soon, and so distinctly different from where he had just been that he shoved David away without hardly a thought. It took him seconds to collect himself and then he said something quickly about how they were noodle and coffee friends and that they were moving too fast before he noticed the warehouse full of people. He ran off, grateful for his powers and thankful for a distraction from anything serious. He was almost immediately pulled into a hug and, after the initial surprise, grinned down at Billy. “I wasn't gone that long,” he said, though he had no clue exactly how long he had been gone. Billy started to say something, but Tommy caught a flash of purple from the corner of his eye and wiggled away. He loved his brother, really, but he really needed to see her. He found her on the dance floor, looking pouty if not sad, and pulled her close to him. It truly does get better, he thought to himself as they fell in to perfect step with each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I want to make this perfectly clear that the ADHD medicine doesn't work effectively on Tommy because he isn't ADHD. Medicine that treats mental and behavioral disorders are very effective on people who have the disorders and help them to lead more 'typical' lives. Likewise, some people choose not to manage their disorders with medication and this is also completely valid. 
> 
> Another thing I want to make perfectly clear is that Tommy is still neuroatypical/neurodivergent. His body and mind are built to be this way to help him use his mutation without killing himself, though, so medicating it would not work. 
> 
> I'm hoping that my writing isn't so poor that I need to actually clarify this, but as a neuroatypical person, I do not want any doubts about what I was trying to do.


End file.
